‘There is one other matter concerning Carmody,’ he said.

‘Go on please.’

‘He stole some cash, maybe as much as fifty pounds from my office. I found him in here one afternoon. He said he wanted to talk to me about a rise in his wages. Later that evening I realised the money was missing from a drawer in my desk.’

‘Did you challenge him, accuse him?’ Swallow asked.

‘Of course. But he denied it. What was I to do? If I reported it to the police I’d have the likes of you tramping around in here night and day. That would be bad for business. One simply carries the loss as a hazard of business life. And one takes better precautions.’

‘Have you any details on Carmody?’ Mossop asked. ‘Address? Family? Acquaintances?’

‘As I explained before, we do not keep records for our casual workers. They come to work, and if they do it satisfactorily I pay them. They don’t come to work or they do not work properly, I do not pay them. It is as simple as that.’

The door to the dining room opened and a bald, middle-aged waiter poked his head anxiously into the lobby.

‘Yes, Hans,’ Werner called to him, ‘I’ll be with you immediately. These gentlemen will be leaving shortly.’

He made a slight bow to Swallow.

‘As you will gather, I am required in the restaurant, Detective Inspector. I’m afraid I cannot help you any further. Please excuse me.’

He turned on his heel and vanished through the frosted-glass door into the noisy mayhem of the restaurant.

Monday December 31st, 1888

Chapter 30

‘You want to go where?’

John Mallon rose from his chair as if propelled by an unseen, counter-gravitational force.

‘Berlin, chief. This fellow Carmody could be our man for the Alice Flannery murder. The only way to be certain is to question him ourselves.’

Mallon came from behind his desk and stood, gazing into the Lower Castle Yard, white in the grip of a heavy frost that would not yield to the weak December sunlight and which was likely to endure until New Year’s Day.

‘How much?’ he asked over his shoulder.

‘Boat and train fares about £30,’ Swallow told him. ‘Kingstown to Holyhead and London. Overnight in London. Dover to Calais and on to Paris. Then Paris to Cologne, overnight on the train. Cologne to Berlin. Another £30 for subsistence for ten nights. £10 for contingencies. I’d say £70 would cover it, chief.’

Mallon turned to face him and grimaced.

‘If it was to track some drunken Fenians there’d be no problem. We both know that. You could go to Timbuktu if it was political. But since it’s only a waitress from Blackberry Lane, there’ll be objections. A G-man skiting off to London and Paris? Oh, they’ll make a big thing of that. You’ll have to leave it with me, Swallow.’